


The Rites of Midnight

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fae & Fairies, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, well maybe a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is completely naked in the middle of the deep forest under the light of the full moon. He has his reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rites of Midnight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FairyNiamh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyNiamh/gifts).



Stiles is completely naked in the middle of the deep forest under the light of the full moon. He has his reasons.

Actually, he has pretty good reasons, ones he’s been considering for years now. It wasn’t until Scott was turned into a werewolf and his life turned upside down that the pro side of his pro/con lists started getting longer.

His seventeenth birthday was a week ago. This is the first full moon since. He has a ritual to perform.

Before he left the house, his dad looked at him and asked for the final time, “Are you absolutely sure?” Stiles nodded. In the end, it was an easy decision.

So now it’s about to happen. Being naked, he’s grateful that his birthday comes in the summer. It’s still a little chilly, it being almost midnight and all. The witching hour.

Not that he’s a witch. Someone might get that impression, if they took in everything he’s doing. Skyclad rituals under the full moon are usually a witchy thing. But Stiles is something else entirely.

Stiles takes a deep breath and raises his arms up toward the sky. There’s no one there to see, but he still feels a little self-conscious. There are words he has to chant now, words he hasn’t heard out loud in years. Not since his mom died.

He starts the chant. He thinks of his mom, a full-blooded Fae who gave up her immortality for love and family. His mom, who passed on a grain of magic to him, a spark to be embraced or ignored.

Stiles wants more than a spark, hence the ritual. The decision is really very simple. The reasons behind the choice, though, are difficult to put into coherency even in his own mind. Mostly he wants to protect his dad, or at least that’s what he’s been telling himself. And Scott. That’s safe to assume, since he’s his best friend. The others? Well. (The responsibility he feels toward Derek’s pack borders on obsession, and he doesn’t know _why_. Maybe embracing the magic of his Fae half will make his feelings more clear.)

The Fae language rolls off his tongue as if he’s been speaking it all along. In the distance he hears a wolf’s howl and hopes it’s one of Derek’s pack and not one of the Alpha pack. He can’t tell the difference. It’s far enough away to be non-threatening, though.

There’s a break in the chanting for the drawing of runes. These took a lot of practice, more than the actual speech. His mom used to talk to him in Fae’len all the time, so he knows it. The runes are new, and without a mentor to help him he’s had to hope his research is sound.

A crash through the brush makes Stiles jump. The rune he’s etching in the dirt doesn’t go wrong though, thankfully. But then suddenly in his clearing there’s a large black form with red eyes staring at him. For a moment, Stiles is deathly afraid. When the creature doesn’t attack, Stiles realizes that it’s Derek in his Alpha form. Stiles has never seen it before; Derek usually just does the fangs and claws thing (plus bumpy forehead and crazy sideburns). 

The problem is not that Stiles is naked in front of Derek; somehow, Derek being in this form makes Stiles feel less weird about himself. No, the problem is that he can’t stop the ritual now or he’ll never have a chance to do it again. This is his one shot at Fae power. This is the only way to gain his inheritance. So now he’s got to ignore the giant Alpha werewolf and continue the ritual.

He is keenly aware of the glowing red eyes that follow his every move. But Stiles is committed and he finishes the runes. He bathes his hands in sacred oil in preparation. Once again he holds his hands up to the sky and chants the end of the ritual. As he lets the words drip off his tongue -- they’re like honey, sweet in his mouth, reminding him of better times -- he looks over and notices that Derek has changed form and is now mostly human and totally naked.

Derek naked and Stiles naked are two totally different things. Stiles exercises enough at practice, sure, but Derek looks like a god in comparison. So Stiles is distracted when the runes in the earth first begin to climb around his legs like vines. He only notices because Derek’s eyes widen and he takes a step forward, as if to stop something.

Stiles looks down as the runes -- pure magic, really -- swirl around his knees and thighs and then travel upwards. It makes him feel feverish and sensitive, and the light breeze that blows at his back is like a lover’s touch. If it didn’t feel so good, Stiles would be embarrassed at the sudden wood he’s sporting.

Up and up the magic climbs, until he’s swirling with it everywhere, silver tattoos of light all over his skin. He can feel himself becoming something new and different, can feel an awareness come over him. The forest around him hums a symphony, each tree a separate part. He’s aware of the animals, of the werewolves running miles away, and especially he’s aware of Derek.

Then, the awareness isn’t quite so strong and the brightness of the runes on his skin mutes down to nothing. The ritual is over. 

Stiles looks at his oiled hands and experimentally cups a bit of magic in his palms. “It worked.” He blows on the magic like a match and it goes out, responding more to his wishes than the puff of air. He grins at Derek, but then his grin falters a bit when he sees the intent look in his glowing red eyes.

“You’re Fae?” Derek asks. He’s very still and his hands are fisted as if he’s holding himself back. From what, Stiles doesn’t know, but when he lets his eyes travel down and sees Derek’s erection, he gets an idea.

“Half. Yes,” Stiles says, ignoring the way the fever of new magic is running through his blood. “My mom was Fae.”

His clothes are several feet away. He’d have to go past Derek to get to them. If he gets close to Derek, he might want to touch. No, he will definitely want to touch. Because he always wants to touch Derek -- thanks for supplying that fact, brain -- and right now he’s weak. Weak with _horniness_.

“Come here,” Derek growls. It’s the full moon and Stiles has no idea how much control Derek has over his wolf. 

Stiles, on the other hand, has plenty of control. So much that he’s doing exactly as Derek says the moment he says it. “I’m right here.”

Derek reaches out to touch Stiles’s face. It’s gentle, the total opposite of what Stiles is expecting from a werewolf on the night of the full moon. Still, Derek’s touch is like lighting a flame. “Why did you do this?”

“I figured you needed all the help you can get,” Stiles whispers. Derek’s body is throwing off heat like a furnace and Stiles’s whole body leans in while he’s helpless to stop it.

Later, Derek will have to explain how he knows about Fae customs and language. Later. Now he’s tracing swirls on Stiles’s cheek and whispering a word in Fae’len. It’s not something Stiles has heard often, but it jars a memory of his mother telling him about his future mate. She could see things, sometimes. The future. She’d known she was going to die and she tried to pass on to her son as much Fae knowledge as she could. Of course, she’d never mentioned werewolves or the role they’d play in his life. She did tell him his mate would be strong. She did tell him the word _hkabah_ , lover. And Derek is saying it now, his pronunciation slightly off, but it is still clear.

Maybe Derek doesn’t know what he’s saying. _Hkabah_ means more than lover, it means mate, as in forever. So Derek can’t possibly understand what the word means.

Stiles could believe that except now Derek is pulling him close and kissing him like the world is about to end. Stiles doesn’t melt, exactly, but he does go pliant. He feels the tips of claws touch his skin, too gentle to damage but too sharp to ignore. Stiles is incredibly turned on, and Derek seems intent on having him right in the clearing.

They make it to the ground, which is cold and damp and scattered with leaves. Derek covers his body with his own, and fuses his mouth to Stiles’s. All of Stiles’s inhibitions go away as his new magic and hot pleasure hums within him. 

Later, Stiles will be grateful that Derek at least has the presence of mind to grab the oil. Now he doesn’t care; he just wants Derek. 

“You do it,” Derek says, shoving the jar of oil into Stiles’s hand. Stiles doesn’t understand until he looks and notices that Derek’s still sporting claws and … yeah, that wouldn’t feel good.

He’s done this before, fumbling curiously on his own, fingers at bad angles. This time there’s intent. This time Derek is staring at him with desperation and barely-reined hunger in his glowing eyes as Stiles pushes his slick fingers inside himself. Derek strokes his cock slowly, watching Stiles prepare himself. It’s the hottest thing Stiles has ever seen. He doesn’t care if he’s on the damp ground for this. The magic and lust in his blood keep telling him everything is perfect, just like this.

“Enough,” Derek growls, and Stiles silently agrees. Derek shoves him over on his belly and lifts him up on his knees. Stiles is definitely on board. Every part of him is aching to be fucked and filled. But then before Derek can complete the act, he stills and says, “You sure?”

“C’mon,” Stiles says. “Yes, I’m so sure, fuck me, please, _please_...”

There’s a rumble of pleasure and then Stiles can feel the head of Derek’s cock rubbing against his hole before it pushes in, past the tight ring of muscle.

It’s a blur after that, just pushing back against Derek’s thrusts as well as he can and moaning wantonly whenever the angle changes from amazing to ecstasy. Derek alternates between holding Stiles down and saying filthy, filthy words while he fucks him. Sometimes he just does it all at once: the dirty talk ( _Stiles, mine, fucking you, stuff you full of me_ ), the holding Stiles down, and the amazingly feral noises he makes. Seriously, Derek is growling and snarling almost the entire time. It’s hot.

Stiles’s knees slide along in the dirt and leaves, and he knows he’s going to be filthy when this is over. It doesn’t matter. He’s found his mate, his _hkabah_ , and Derek knows what he is and still wants him. They’ll have to talk about this, rationally, later. Much later. For now there’s aggressive fucking, Stiles whimpering and knowing he’s going to have trouble walking after this. Derek’s claws prick his skin and he can feel the threat of fangs at his shoulder. 

That Derek is still restraining himself is a testament to his control. It throws Stiles over the edge, knowing that Derek is watching out for him, even in this.

Stiles comes and Derek moans as he clenches around him. Then Derek is thrusting harder, more erratic, and then stilling as he reaches his own climax.

They collapse together on the ground, both of them seeking each other with their hands, their legs twining together. They’re both panting, unable to speak.

Stiles can grin, though.

It takes awhile to regain their breath and senses. Stiles knows they need to talk about this, but he’s hesitant to put it into words.

Still, he’s Stiles. He’s unable to stay quiet, especially when there’s things to say. “How long have you known I’m your mate?”

Derek kisses his shoulder and runs his hand down Stiles’s side. “I wasn’t sure until tonight. I thought … I thought I was going crazy, the things I felt for you.” He’s gentle now, touching Stiles everywhere he can reach, like he can’t get enough of the feel of his skin. “Did you know?”

“I didn’t know the, um, extent of it?” Stiles says. He knew, though he’s been denying it to himself, that he cares about Derek. Maybe he even loves him. 

“Does anyone else know about your Fae side?” Derek asks. 

“Just my dad,” Stiles says. 

“Are you going to tell anyone?” Derek asks, his lips brushing across Stiles’s collarbone and making him shiver.

“I’d better. It’ll be hard to explain my sudden ability to do elemental magic,” Stiles says, gasping when Derek’s mouth drops lower to tease a nipple.

“We should get out of here,” Derek says.

Stiles grins. “Dad’s working. Want to come over and have sex in a bed?”

Derek laughs. He sounds happy. He kisses Stiles again and nods. “Yeah. Sounds perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was written for fairyniamh, who won me in a fandomaid auction 
> 
> thanks to majoline for beta reading and aerynvala for allll the cheerleading she did.
> 
> I hope you had as much fun reading as I did writing.


End file.
